


Binary Star

by spicyobsession



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Character Study, Coming of Age, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Gen Fic, Humor, Love, Multi, Slice of Life, Unrequited Love, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-02
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 17,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spicyobsession/pseuds/spicyobsession
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A character study series of Liara T’soni from ME1 to ME3 through conversations and introspective moments with various crewmates and minor characters. In the backdrop of her life is an unwavering devotion to Commander Shepard that at times pushes her forward and on others holds her back. Written for the 2012 Mass Effect Big Bang with art by digitbrawlton.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Biggest thanks to my beta reader lemuffinmistress and fellow artist-in-crime digitbrawlton. Not only did they help me finish this series (it wouldn’t be here without them), they also listened to every inane, insane, slightly hysterical thought-ramble I had about the story over this magical 3 month period. They possess an inhuman amount of patience. 
> 
> And, a big thank you to everyone else out there who’s about to click this link. I hope you all enjoy because I sure enjoyed writing it (most of the time.) My artist is amazing, by the way.

Liara watches Shepard. The commander stands tall, hands linked behind her back, her lean, brown frame open to the asari’s undivided attention in the small lab beyond the med bay in this ship she’s suddenly found herself on. She tucks her legs under the chair and takes a breath. “I’m sorry.”

Shepard raises both eyebrows, the meaning of which Liara can’t remember. “What for?” That voice, deep and contained, resonates in her ears.  
  
“When we joined minds, it may have caused you more discomfort than anticipated.” She shifts in her seat. “I’d never done it with a human before.” It’d be too embarrassing to admit her inexperience extends to her own kind as well.  
  
“The effects were minimal,” Shepard says, “Right now, I’m more concerned about you.”  
  
Liara resists the urge to point at herself. “Me? Well—I’m still a bit dizzy, but I’m told that will pass. You have a very capable doctor on board.”  
  
“Dr. Chakwas is one of the best.” She nods her approval, those full lips twitching in a movement nearly too quick to catch. “I’ve got reports to file now, but I wanted to check on you first.”  
  
Shepard’s been looking at her with those heavy-lidded eyes this entire time, her face like a puzzle worn smooth by experience and failed attempts to solve it. Liara feels more light-headed. “Thank you, for rescuing me on Therum. If you hadn’t…”  
  
“Don’t mention it,” she says with a disarming smile that hides her teeth and pats Liara on the shoulder, a gesture that makes her jump slightly under those fingers. Shepard doesn’t notice. “We’ll talk later.” She then leaves as quietly as she had come.  
  
Her right shoulder burning, Liara stares at the door, questions and more questions on the tip of her tongue, but she hadn’t thought to ask Shepard those because they have nothing to do with Reapers or Protheans or her strange in-between status on the _Normandy_. She doesn’t know how to articulate the inexperience of their joining and the resulting psychic spill that had only flowed in one direction.  
  
What Liara does wish to know, however, is about the frail child swinging low in a ragged hammock by the river; the slender youth inexpertly holding a dated pistol at someone even younger; the soldier with blood and sand in her curly hair, falling to her knees in a circle of her dead unit on some desolate planet. They were inexplicably woven into the fabric of Shepard’s actual visions, an unforeseen complication for which the asari blames no one but herself. The shadows of these memories slip through her hands like oil, with only brief flashes that fade further into obscurity with every passing second.  
  
The commander still knows next-to-nothing about Liara, but her own secrets aren’t secret anymore. She feels guilty for not telling and guilty for the insatiable curiosity in her chest because she wants to know the woman behind the woman. She wants to know more—anything, anything—about Commander Shepard.


	2. Maiden 1

Several pairs of human eyes lightly land on her, linger for seconds, and at last flit back to something infinitely more interesting than Commander Shepard’s newest alien addition to the crew. Liara licks her lips that had dried suddenly in the impromptu evaluation given and steadies the grip on her food and drink. The attempt fails, as her body has devoted the rest of its energy to holding her legs upright in the mess hall. Unconsciously, her shoulders curl in a position echoing her university days.  
  
She rushes to a nearby chair and sits down before the panic and cold sweat can set in. When Liara looks up, however, what could be the galaxy’s oldest krogan stares back, and cold sweat breaks out on her skin anyway. “H-hello,” she manages.  
  
Wrex—because the name only just now comes to her—gives Liara the slightest nod in return and brings a scoop of something raw and angry-looking to his mouth. The sight of him gingerly holding a fork in his hand almost makes the asari burst into nervous giggles. Discreet glances reveal that everyone has given them a wide berth, and as his jaw unhinges for rows of large, blunt teeth to catch the meat, she understands why. She watches him chew for several long moments, lips parted in fascination.  
  
He swallows it all in an impressive gulp. “What—never seen a krogan eat before?”  
  
“No—I mean yes!” Liara says hastily. “Sorry.” She ducks her head and shoves in a mouthful of vegetables, her eyes determinedly fixed on the plate.  
  
His amused rumbles vibrate across the table. “Looks like Shepard’s got herself a nervous pyjak.”  
  
Her gaze still cast down, Liara chews while carefully grouping her food into organized segments comprehensible to no one but her. A familiar burn spreads to her cheeks as the fork scrapes on her plate. Is the crew watching her, watching this? Or have they already turned their backs on the shy, socially inept student that nobody ever wants to sit with? Or maybe she’s thinking too much again—  
  
But how many times does she have to tell herself that these aren’t her damn university days? “That was certainly the most excitement I’ve ever had while excavating on Therum.” Her voice luckily rings out clear enough to offset the tremor in her words, and she forces herself to raise her head, hands loosely clasped together on the table.  
  
Wrex fixes his beady stare on her again. A heartbeat passes, then two, then three. “Yeah,” he says and resumes eating.  
  
Liara waits for him to swallow. “Geth and krogan working together—first time I’ve seen anything like that,” she continues. “And yourself?”  
  
“No” is his eloquent reply, and she wracks her brain for something else to follow that, but there’s no need because he isn’t finished. “But I’ve run into a few things that would make your skin crawl.”  
  
She smiles and picks up her glass. “I’d like to hear them, if you’re willing to talk.”

 


	3. Maiden 2

“How are you?”

Shiala slowly sits up on the bed, staring at Liara, who has seated herself on the opposite chair. She blinks several times and says, “As well as can be under these circumstances.” Glancing around, she adds, “I assume that I passed out.”

“You collapsed as soon as the exchange with Commander Shepard was completed, and we carried you back to the settlement. It’s been a few hours.”

Her mother’s former disciple merely hums in response, still disoriented from the entire ordeal. Although her deep indigo complexion has lightened several shades since emerging from the Thorian, the rest of the side effects go unnoticed by everyone except the only other asari on Zhu’s Hope. Waves of tension and unspoken trauma roil around them both as Shiala regains her bearings. “Is the commander alright?”

“She recovered quickly,” Liara says, “it was an impressively clean Joining, considering the amount of information you must have imparted.”

Shiala straightens her posture. “Shepard’s mind and will are formidable. That smoothed the process immensely.”

Liara glances away, cheeks warming. “Physically, she had a more pronounced negative reaction when I tried to help her decipher the visions prior to our arrival on Feros.”

“I see.” A frown line appears between her eyes. “Were there any other adverse effects?”

“Not on her end. However,” she admits, ducking her head, “I did see some of her memories by accident.”

“ _What?_ Was she aware?”

“No!” Liara insists, “It was only a one-directional spill.”

Shiala gives a long sigh, allowing the sound to peter out. “How old are you?”

“One hundred and six,” she mumbles.

“And was that your first initiated meld?”

Her voice drops to a whisper. “Yes.”

She sighs again. Liara squirms in her chair. Now fully awake, the older asari regards her with mild surprise. “You’ve never tried with your friends or family…?”

Opening and closing her mouth, the words come shyly. “Up until recently, I spent months by myself on archaeological digs, and it was neither a pressing nor relevant concern back in school. I had my studies.”

In the ensuing silence, Liara knows how her response must sound and what it implies, which is simply nothing but the truth: hours hidden away in her favorite carrel of the biggest library, cafeteria meals taken alone, holidays and seasonal breaks wasted in her dorm room with stacks of books to keep her company—the confusing minutiae of everyday interaction were taxing enough so why compound the matter with social mandates to establish arbitrary mental connections? Besides, no one ever pushed the issue and thus she never mentioned it. Then again, look at what the delaying has caused.

“It would be wise to practice,” Shiala replies finally, “I suspect Shepard will have further need of your ability in the coming weeks.”

Her shoulders slump. “I know.”

Shiala leans forward, canting her head at an angle that seems sympathetic. “You’re very young,” she says not unkindly. “There is room for improvement.”

Liara nods, too embarrassed to speak.


	4. Maiden 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scenes references and alludes to events and locations in the ME1 DLC Pinnacle Station.

“So this is General Ahern’s retirement place huh?” Ashley lets out a low, appreciative whistle. “A bit out of the way, but I can see the appeal.”  
  
Liara watches the gunnery officer stride to the other side of the complex with Commander Shepard and turns away, staying put where she is. Sweat slides down her cheeks; the sun above Intai’sei is relentless. The fine, red dust ubiquitous to the planet limits her vision to what’s standing in front of her eyes, which is a terrain that extends towards a murky horizon with neither flora nor fauna in sight—a big, empty wasteland. Although the occasional outcrop breaks up the monotony of the space, the plateau base on which the apartment sits has seemingly nothing else to offer in terms of excitement.  
Luckily, excitement has never held much appeal for Liara, at least not the kind people immediately think of when the word is mentioned. She kneels down to sift the dirt through her fingers and imagines what treasures or histories lie beneath. They had passed a geological research station on the way here, and she was sorely tempted to ask Shepard if they could make a pit-stop. Obscure instruments jutted from the building’s rooftop while an elaborate drill sat quiet and unused to the side. She had pressed her face against the Mako’s small window as they drove by, admiring the familiar machinery. Discovery, not gunfire, is what sets her heart apace.  
  
The fact that she’s traveling with a Spectre on a military ship only heightens the disconnect between where they are now and where they could be in the next few hours. A feeble breeze picks up as Liara relishes the solitude for what it is: a breath secretly taken between each action-packed encounter. During digs, there were no stolen moments like these, but long stretches of time spent in isolation, back hunched over the ground with a trowel or brush in hand as she kept her fingers from shaking the artifact she was usually holding. Silence had been her constant companion until now.  
  
A sudden shadow casts itself over Liara, who looks up to find Ashley with both hands on her hips. “We’re going to go check out the inside of the apartment. You coming?”  
  
Behind her some feet away stands Shepard, a stolid figure against this stark backdrop. She nods. “Yes.”  
  
“This way,” Ashley says, turning around. The outline of her body immediately blurs in the hazy air as she walks away. Soon, she has to squint in order to make out their figures. Rising to her feet, the former archaeologist drinks in the harsh scenery, wondering when or if she’ll get to do this again. The more this Saren plot thickens, the less peace and quiet there is. Or is she slowly growing used to the noise and chaos that comes from people, from company, from something other than the thoughts in her own head?

Liara wipes the sweat from her forehead and trails after them.


	5. Maiden 4

A server balancing a tray laden with tiny glasses walks by their hightable, headed for the row of seated officials some yards away.  
  
"Port Hanshan reminds me of the hotels that my university would book for conferences," Liara says, twisting around in her stool for a better look. “Or rather the other way around, I mean.”  
  
Next to her, Garrus does the turian rendition of a sniff. “I assume there was a lot of pomp and circumstance.”  
  
“Naturally. There’d be light refreshments while each department head bared their claws for the most funding.” She resumes stirring the contents of her overly fruity drink. “Mainly backdoor bribes or kicking under the table, and all before the entrées.”  
  
“Did they carry concealed firearms too?”  
  
Liara takes a tentative sip, makes a moue, and replies, “I never got close enough to the professors to find out, though it certainly wouldn’t be surprising if they did.”  
  
His faceplates shift intriguingly in what she gathers to be mild interest. Weeks of constant interaction with the different races on board the _Normandy_ have begun to pay off so that at least she knows this conversation isn’t boring Garrus, an achievement in and of itself considering the man’s complete one-track mind on finding Saren. They had already exhausted that topic in the half-hour spent here as Commander Shepard moves fluidly in her own sneaky dealings between Lorik Q’uin and Gianna Parasini. Liara moves in her seat, her dress _incognito_ uncomfortably tight.  
  
She doesn’t know how to interpret the flutter of Garrus’ mandibles though. “What’s that human phrase again? You’re like a fish out of the water.”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“It means being out of your element,” he says, gesturing to the harsh ceiling lights and blank, gray architecture. “Thrust into an unfamiliar environment with no idea what to do.”  
  
Liara stares at the filaments swirling in her drink. What does he expect from dropping a post-graduate archaeology student into the middle of a military ship—instant acclimation? “I hope that I’m slowly learning to play my part as a crewmember.”  
  
“Including joining the commander groundside for constant firefights against geth, mercs, and the occasional husk horde?”  
  
“I’ll admit my biotics never received this much extended application while excavating Prothean ruins. However, Sh—Commander Shepard has always ensured that I don’t accompany her on any mission that exceeds my abilities.”  
  
Garrus watches her, restlessly tapping his gloved finger on the table. “But you’ve got a taste for combat now?” He words it like a question, but his arrogance announces otherwise.  
  
Liara can hear conversational murmurs mingling with glass-clinking from the other table and resists the urge to rise and walk away. “It is like you said,” she says, inclining her head, “Everything still feels new to me.”  
  
“You get used to it eventually,” he replies, leaning back against the chair.  
  
“Have you?”  
  
“I’ll let you know when uncovering a rogue Spectre’s plot gets boring.”  
  
She primly finishes the rest of her glass. “Some things must be new for you too.”


	6. Maiden 5

Liara jumps in her chair when the door slides open, and Ashley comes to a halt mid-step. “Oh—hey.”  
  
“H-hello,” she replies, wiping her face.  
  
Ashley digs her hands into her pockets. “I didn’t know you were in here.”  
  
“It’s no trouble,” Liara says evenly, “In fact, I’m just about to leave.”  
  
“Hey, wait a second.” She walks over to the table where the asari’s seated at and sinks down onto the chair across hers. Ashley stares at Liara, the line of her mouth firm and determined. “You okay?”  
  
She blinks, unable to look away. “Everyone has been asking me that.”  
  
“And I guess you’re tired of hearing it,” Ashley says.  
  
Liara shakes her head. “I don’t mind it. Although, I keep telling them the same thing—that I’m fine, but…” She glances at the box of tissues near her hand. “Maybe it isn’t true.”  
  
Ashley gives a heavy sigh as the two of them silently contemplate the clean tabletop. Liara sneaks looks at her. As soon as the _Normandy_ was out of Noveria’s orbit, everyone had lined up to create an ongoing string of consolations, offered a shoulder or a listening ear, and eventually given the asari her space. But they had left. Everyone except the person sitting across from her.  
  
After a period, Ashley asks, “What was your mom like? If you don’t mind me asking.”  
  
“There isn’t much to tell,” Liara answers, “We hadn’t spoken in decades. Before the—indoctrination, she was kind, warm…” She liked the color yellow; she used to take Liara to a park near their Thessia home every day. “…when we were down in the hot labs, I hardly recognized her anymore.”  
  
“For what it’s worth, the pain she was going through here is over. She’s in a better place now.”  
  
She nods stiffly. “’Heaven’, right? Isn’t that what humans call it?”  
  
“Just the ones who are religious, like me.” Ashley pauses. “My dad’s up there too.”  
  
Liara sharply looks up at the gunnery officer, who meets her eyes with a matter-of-fact shrug. Not a recent passing then, but a loss she’s made her peace with, and a loss that still tempers the usual heat in her voice into a more subdued tone. It’s a detail she’s chosen to share.  
  
She swallows. “Does it hurt sometimes?”  
  
“Only sometimes. The passing years help.”  
  
“In asari culture,” Liara begins slowly, “Teaching us how to apply the ‘long view’ philosophy to the passing of loved ones and friends is a central part of our early socialization. I suppose the lessons have something to do with possessing lengthier lifespans than any other sapient species. Instead of focusing on the loss, we treasure the memories.” She has a sudden, irresistible urge to spill something on the table. “But—”  
  
“Forget what you were taught for a second,” Ashley cuts in, no longer calm, “And just let yourself mourn. No one should tell you how to grieve.”  
  
Liara takes a final look at Ashley before her eyes start watering.

 


	7. Maiden 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene features an OC (the only OC in this series) from Liara’s past.

“Liara? Is that _you_?”

Four words: that’s all it takes for Liara to find herself having an unplanned brunch with a former classmate at a Presidium Café that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. Before she knew what was happening, Filara had already dragged them inside—they haven’t seen each other in years, but at least that much hasn’t changed. After receiving their tea and coffee in delicate, white glassware, the other asari props her chin on her hands, those painted lips curving in a smile.

“I can’t believe you were about to walk right past me at the bio-amps stall. Just wait until I tell your old advisor about this.”

She shrugs sheepishly. “I’ve been busy.”

“I’ve heard,” Filara says, pouring milk in her coffee. “This human reporter—Emily Wong?—she mentioned your name while listing off the “eclectic and diverse group of associates Commander Shepard is travelling with” in a vid segment I caught the other day.”

Pleased but unwilling to show it, Liara simply smiles before lifting the mug to her lips.

“This is what you get up to when you’re not studying old Prothean junk then, huh?”

“It was completely unplanned, if that’s any consolation.”

“Nope,” Filara says blithely, “But you get credit for trying. I knew something was amiss when there hadn’t been one of your articles in the _The Serrice Scientific Review_ for a while.”

Liara flushes. “I don’t publish there _that_ often.”

“The archives say otherwise,” she replies with a waggle of her finger and helps herself to the plate of biscuits at the table’s center. “So does this mean everything you’re doing right now is ‘classified?’”

“I can neither confirm nor deny the nature of our activities.”

Filara lets out a whistle. “Look at that, they’ve got you talking like them too.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“You’re in denial.”

That surprises her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s alright, I understand. The life of a military operative can’t be easy.”

“Filara,” Liara begins exasperatedly.

“What?” Her friend sprays crumbs on the table. “Come on, you can’t tell me that after going on adventures and Goddess knows what else with the galaxy’s first human Spectre you’d willingly return to a life of stuffy conferences and journal-publishing. I sure wouldn’t.”

“I—“ She stops to stare at Filara. “That thought has never crossed my mind.”

“Really?” she asks, taking an innocent sip from her mug.

“Yes!” Liara says too quickly.

Before she can continue, Filara puts her hands up. “Okay, no more teasing.”

Is it true though? Would she have considered that possibility sooner or later? Her studies have been put on hold for several months now. Once this is all over, could she return to her work with the same zeal? Has she already changed so much? And who else has noticed? Who could she ask? Filara idly dunks a biscuit into her coffee as her stomach sinks. There’s no one to ask. “Thank you,” Liara says instead, and the two resume eating.

 


	8. Maiden 7

Liara nervously clutches her glass, eyes flitting back and forth to each crewmember seated around her. They had all just been dismissed from the group meeting one floor above and moved for the elevator as a singular entity while Shepard lingered behind to give her report to the Council. Inevitably, they found themselves in front of the kitchen, shifting their feet and itching for a drink. Not long afterward, the rest of the crew had conveniently disappeared to clear the area.

Tali’s hand shakes as she raises her glass. “T-to Ashley.”

“Went to the Void like a true warrior,” Wrex rumbles, copying her gesture.

“Did us proud,” Garrus adds with a flicker of his mandibles.

Liara silently lifts her drink up. Out of the corner of her eye, Kaidan hesitates before joining the toast. The alcohol burns on the way down with an elegance to its roughness, a phrase that—strangely enough—is (was?) a perfect description of the gunnery chief. She doesn’t finish her drink, but only manages to cough twice while the others drain theirs like shore leave has come early.

Wiping his mouth, Kaidan sets his glass on the table. “It should’ve been me,” he blurts out. When no one replies, he continues, “Right? It should have been me left on Virmire. The squad was closer to Ash at the time, the bomb needed to go off, the AA guns were fixed—” He breaks off, bowing and shaking his head.

“It was Shepard’s call in the end,” Tali says hesitantly.

Garrus taps his claws on the surface, the noise dulled by his gloves. “Williams knew what she signed up for. Sacrifice in war is expected.”

Wrex grunts.

Liara keeps quiet and wonders if Ashley is up in heaven right this moment, watching their round table discussion. Would she get angry at Kaidan’s guilt? Would she have something to say to each of them?

“But she died because of me, because of…“ A visible lump bobs up and down Kaidan’s throat as he looks around, his face pinched. “I—excuse me,” he says curtly, pushes his chair back, and leaves without another word. They watch him go.

After a length of time, Wrex reaches for the bottle to pour another glass.

“Hey,” Tali begins slowly, “You don’t think Shepard chose Kaidan because…?”

“There’s no use speculating,” Garrus cuts in gently. “For now, we concentrate our full attention on Saren and use the information uncovered on Virmire to catch up to the bastard before it’s too late.”

“You’re right—Ashley’s sacrifice can’t be in vain.”

Liara watches Garrus place a tentative hand on the quarian’s shoulder as Wrex rises from his seat, the levo-bottle in his grip. She looks down at her unfinished glass, throat tight, unable to remember the last thing she had said to Ashley. Perhaps it was something inconsequential, too unimportant in the grand scheme of things to recall. Later, she’ll murmur a prayer for her in private because that’s how she’s chosen to grieve.

 


	9. Maiden 8

“Do you dance?”

“Not since my university days,” Liara says, watching the gyrating commotion on the other side of Flux. She clears her throat. “And yourself?”

The light reflected on Tali’s mask winks back at her. “A bit, but it’s different from what we’re looking at here.”

“I imagine so.”

There’s another overly fruity drink in her hand. She keeps forgetting to order something else, but an elcor waves down the pretty, red-haired bartender before she can. Behind them are Shepard and an older human male hunched over at a table, their conspiratorial whispers lost in the noise. Garrus, Kaidan, and the usual group are somewhere else on the Citadel. Tali leans forward, her white eyes flashing. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

Liara sips from her glass and winces. “A way to un-ground the _Normandy_ , I’m sure.”

“It’s been hours since we’ve docked though,” she says, her hood shifting restlessly on her helmet, “Sar—he could be in Ilos already.”

“She can appeal to the Council again,” Liara replies firmly and attempts to catch the bartender’s attention once more.

“None of whom believe her.”

The woman stays on the opposite end of the bar, completely oblivious. “Another path will reveal itself.”

“What makes you so sure that—“

Her hand accidentally comes down hard on the counter as the next words come out earnestly, without thought. “Now is not the time for doubt. We’ve come too far to lose faith in Shepard.” And then quietly, like a second breath, “She’ll do what needs to be done.”

It’s the most passionately Liara has spoken in front of someone. Even she is surprised by the sudden verve in her voice. When Tali slowly tilts her head, the asari wishes—not for the first time—that she could see past that opaque, purple plating. “I—I didn’t realize it was the same for you too.”

“What is?” It slips out harsher than Liara has intended.

“Let me explain.” She stills her with a hand. “I was in one of the alleys here, bargaining for protection because of the evidence hidden in my suit when I met her. The whole deal was stupid, _I_ was stupid, but I didn’t know what else to do. And I had already sustained a previous injury. Worse would’ve happened if-well…” Tali looks down, and she’s forcefully reminded of her youth. “But she showed up so nothing happened.”

Her story takes several seconds to become clear, and abruptly Liara drains half of her drink. “I was trapped in the ruins and surrounded by geth for almost two days,” she says, swallowing, “I was either going to die of starvation, dehydration, or gunfire—whichever came first. But-“

“You didn’t,” Tali finishes.

A warm feeling starts at her neck, steadily creeping to the tip of her crest. Liara can’t tell if it originated from the alcohol or somewhere else. “It appears we both got lucky.”

Tali nods, successfully calling over the bartender to the other’s surprise. “We got Shepard.”


	10. Maiden 9

“Are you about to go to sleep?”

Kaidan jerks to a complete stop, hand jumping to his chest. “Shit, that was a good one.”

“I apologize if I startled you.” Liara fully steps out from the entrance to the med bay. “I’ve been reviewing my notes over the Protheans in preparation for tomorrow, but there’s only so much rereading one can do before…well.” She shrugs helplessly. “I’m still very much awake.”

“Yeah, that’s usually how it is before a big mission,” he says, visibly relaxing.

“You’ve been out here for a while now, haven’t you?”

“Are you uh, spying on me, Dr. T’Soni?”

She shakes her head and smiles. “Is that a joke? I’ve gotten better at those.”

“I think it’s safe to say you’ve gotten better at everything.” There are tiny divots on both his cheeks.

“Thank you. I’ve worked hard to earn my place on the _Normandy_.” Liara leans against the wall. “Everyone here is so…accomplished. It appears the commander travels with only the best.”

“Or that she just sees the potential in everyone.” The timbre of his voice grows gravelly and warm. She’s seen him talk to her on this floor; Shepard’s eyes change too when speaking with this calm, slow-tempered man. Their understated courtship has been fascinating to watch.

Liara notices his hands fidgeting. “You never answered my question.”

He nods, carefully holding his mouth as if to consider his response. “Yeah, I’ve been hanging around the crew deck for a while.”

“Why?” She wouldn’t have been this persistent a few months ago, but Kaidan’s mild manner has always made her feel less self-conscious than most.

The half-hearted laugh he gives shouldn’t worry her this much. “I guess I have a lot on my mind too—hoping a short walk will clear my head.”

“But it hasn’t,” Liara prompts, taking a tentative step closer.

“I’m not sure what will.”

The details cleanly come together then: the hesitation in his eyes, his lingering footsteps in front of the elevator, Shepard’s cabin two tantalizing floors up. She’s never been there; no one has. What reason would any of them have? Their commander has always had a reason to seek out the staff lieutenant though. Her lips feel dry all of a sudden so she licks them as the right words click into place.

“We don’t know what revelations we’ll face tomorrow or what battles we will fight. Perhaps now is the time to voice those concerns to Commander Shepard.”

Kaidan’s looking at her like she’s grown another crest. “It’s pretty late” is what he says; “I need a push” is what he means, and Liara is nothing if not a giver.

“She might be having trouble falling asleep too,” she says gently. The words keep coming from an unknown place in her mind, but they feel inexplicably right and wrong at the same time. “A little conversation could be what she needs.” Nudging him towards the elevator would complete the metaphor, but her hands stubbornly keep to themselves.

A lengthy pause stretches between them as Kaidan digests her advice. She almost wants to rescind it. “What she needs,” he murmurs, as if to himself. “Yeah, maybe that’s it.”

“Thanks for the late pep talk,” he says, meeting her eyes.

She knows to smile. “My pleasure.”

A few seconds are all Liara has to note the grateful expression on his face before he moves with purpose to the elevator. She watches the door slide shut over his restless hands and feet before returning to the lab again, but every move made sounds even louder in this newly formed absence. Any attempts to focus on preparation for Ilos fail miserably. Her chair makes too much noise. The text is too tiny to read this late. The air is stale.

She checks the time. Kaidan should be at her doorway by this point. Does Shepard let him in? What will they talk about? Will he repeat what she said to him just now or will he say something earnest and measured that wins a chuckle from their commander and a hand that ever so gently pushes him towards the bed? Liara lays her head down on the table. Wondering is pointless.


	11. Maiden 10

Wrex didn’t have much to pack. There were his weapons, the ceremonial armor Shepard had helped him regain back on Tuntau, and whatever else a krogan might need. Liara wouldn’t know. She had only peeked into his crate before he noticed and stared her away. When asked of his plans, he gave a laugh that sounded more like a growl, joking about a new job deep in the Terminus Systems where the lure of creds was too much for him to decline. Before she could reply, he grudgingly admitted that Tuchanka was actually his next destination. Liara didn’t press further.

Tali also traveled lightly, with most of her essentials hidden, tucked, and folded away in the mysterious contours of her suit. Liara didn’t have to ask where she was headed to next. Seeing the Migrant Fleet again was all her friend could talk about in the days prior to her departure. Apparently, her father (and by extension, the Admiralty Board) may have an important task for her to do upon returning. It is a possibility she had mentioned with pride, clasping both hands to her chest. Liara smiled, touched her friend’s shoulder, and asked if they could stay in touch.

Ashley’s locker had to be cleaned out sooner or later, and Liara volunteered. Clothes and family mementos were carefully set aside, but a well-worn notebook—not a datapad to type things on, but a real, physical copy—caught her undivided attention. She spent an hour turning every page, each dry corner ever-so-slightly pinched between her thumb and forefinger as her eyes drank in the expressive loops and swoops that had been the gunnery chief’s handwriting. The entries weren’t written in Galactic Standard so all Liara could do was trace the lines and wonder how the other woman has been faring.

Garrus had a separate crate for his Mantis, an observation Liara amusedly kept to herself. While she watched him inspect the Mako one last time, he rambled about affairs that needed attending to once he stepped off the _Normandy_ : checking in with Executor Pallin for C-Sec reapplication, renewing the lease on his apartment, utility bills to pay (that were surely late), and the like. After months of running from one end of the galaxy to the next, it was time for him to resume his old life, his real life. Saying nothing, Liara nodded and looked down at her hands.

Kaidan wasn’t going anywhere. Liara had checked herself before she asked such an obvious question. He had resumed duty as soon as possible, shadowing Shepard with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes boring into the back of her neck. An Alliance man for life, he told Liara, that’s who he was. He would serve the commander, finish his tour, and maybe, _maybe_ , take advantage of the shore leave he’s saved up on. Liara noticed the loaded glance he threw at Shepard while saying the last part. His future seemed so neatly planned out. All of theirs appeared that way.

* * *

Liara is standing alone in a corner of the Lower Wards with her belongings when Filara finds her. “Goddess, you’re alive!” She hugs her tightly, takes Liara’s hand, and leads her through the throng of people that have seemingly multiplied in the wake of Sovereign’s attack. Her friend continues talking as they walk. “You’re terrible at keeping me updated, you know that?”

They pass by shocked, bewildered citizens, the aftermath of lives turned upside down. She tries to ignore them. “Hello, Filara.”

“Hello yourself. It’s been chaos down here. Bits of that—that ship that attacked us are everywhere in the Wards. Tayseri got hit the hardest.” They reach the nearest rapid transit station, where Filara elbows her way to a vacant vehicle and punches her address in. “Luckily, my apartment’s in Bachjret.”

The skycar door pops open, and Liara is herded inside. “It wasn’t a ship,” she says.

Filara stores the crates in the trunk and climbs in with her. “What wasn’t?”

“Sovereign. It was a Reaper named Sovereign.”

“Are you talking about that ship? It’s been confirmed that it was a geth dreadnought of some kind.”

The skycar locks the doors and begins its ascent, raising them above the crowd. Up here, the noises are muffled, the confusion and loss more disconnected so Liara can _think_ for once since leaving the _Normandy_ and stare at Filara, who looks so sure of the information fed to her. She’s not Commander Shepard, can’t speak like Commander Shepard, can’t sway like Commander Shepard. Neither the Council nor the Alliance superiors had believed her too so how could she possibly convince anyone?  
  
“Liara?”

She blinks. “I—I’m sorry. I was merely rambling again, thinking aloud of a mission I went on.”

Filara nods, accepting another lie. “You’re done with the Spectre adventures though, right? Isn’t that why you contacted me, you needed a place to stay for a few days?”

Her throat tightens. “Yes.”

“I mean,” she says, “do you know what you plan on doing next? Are you resuming your research?”

“Eventually,” Liara replies slowly, resenting every word that comes out. “I’ll need to return to Thessia first and check back with the board who sponsored the Therum dig. I have many…arrangements to take care of.”

“Of course. I’ll help you book the tickets.” Filara puts a hand on her friend’s knee. “All this craziness will be a thing of the past soon.”

She doesn’t reply further but leans her head against the window. There is no place for her on the Normandy. What use would the commander (not _her_ commander anymore) have for a Prothean scientist in wiping out the remaining geth? The truth has been covered and denied. Her research, once an all-consuming passion—has cooled. What do her findings matter compared to the knowledge of the Reapers’ existence? With so much set adrift, she needs time to consider. Thessia is but a temporary stop.

Liara glances at Filara. “I have a feeling that it won’t.”

She misses Shepard.


	12. Matron 1

Three hundred credits: that’s how much the dress laying on the bed costs. Liara spreads the corners out, surveying the handiwork. Since Commander Shepard was a human, decorum dictates that the attendees show up in her species’ appropriate mourning attire. As such, this is the first black dress Liara has ever owned, and it is a finely-sewed garment with its materials shipped directly from Thessia. Tiny, even stitches run down the sides. The asari-made fabric—on which every seam matches impeccably—is smooth and supple, as befits her people’s craftsmanship. Without telling anyone, it had arrived at her doorstep in a creamy, slim package.

She slips into the dress in front of the mirror. Numb fingers drag the near-invisible zipper from the small of her back to the nape of her neck. A muted pattern borders the high collar tucked under her chin to match the abstract waves at her ankle-length hem. The sleeves neatly end at her wrists. Liara turns around and around, twisting her neck to view every angle; as per her request, there are no artfully bared patches of skin to mock the occasion. One last glance shows the tidy row of buckles on her bodice. After pressing her lips together to smooth them, she is ready.

During the service, Liara is careful to tuck the fabric under her knees in such a way that it won’t crease while she’s seated. Her breaths manage to pull in air. The tributes, the speeches, the eulogies—they all brush by, clinging to her until the words become weightless dust on her dress. If that bothers her, she doesn’t say. In fact, she doesn’t say much at all at the funeral and stands apart from the Alliance crowd that dominates the scene. Joker, Dr. Chakwas, and the scant remainder of the Normandy’s crew form their own clique while Kaidan runs rather than walks past her, already lost to his grief. She stays alone in her finery throughout the entire proceeding.

The lights flicker on and off in the late afternoon when Liara finally returns to her room. Naked feet softly pad the floor once her matte boots come off. Her crest aches. She had skipped the reception. The bodice is too tight on her chest, the collar too stiff, the hem too narrow and tapered to allow her halting steps for the bed. She doesn’t make it. Her hands fumble on the zipper several times until her skin catches on the metal teeth, drawing a hiss that becomes muttered curses, then shuddering sighs, and eventually a heaving breath as her back hits the wall. She slowly sinks down to meet the carpet.

With her eyes squeezed shut, Liara draws her knees up and holds them tight. Her dress has wrinkles everywhere. It’ll have to be dry-cleaned in the morning, but for now she rips the zipper open to make space for her body that doubles over, suddenly too large to contain anything, not even the reality of her Commander’s death.


	13. Matron 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene makes several explicit references to the ME comic Redemption and Liara’s adventure on Omega.

_“You did well, Liara.”_

“Excuse me, ma’am?”  
  
 _“We were right to put our faith in you.”_  
  
“Please wake up—“  
  
 _“Shepard obviously made some very good friends.”_  
  
“We’ve arrived at our destination.”  
  
Liara blinks awake. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she mumbles and straightens herself into a sitting position. Her vision slowly shifts back into focus as the remnants of her dream slip back under her subconscious.

The asari stewardess makes an impatient noise. “You’re the last one to be let out. Please don’t forget any personal belongings as we are not responsible for missing or stolen items. Have a pleasant day.” With that, she smoothly glides away. Liara sighs, rises to her feet, and reaches for the overhead compartment bin. The rows of empty seats seem endless as she walks past them, but the repeating pattern helps her to forget the rest of her recent conversation with Miranda Lawson.  
  
A vacant elevator takes her down to the docking level where a moving ramp shifts Liara from under the shadow of the ship’s hull to the light of a planet just touching another evening. There’s no crowd on the ground, no one to meet and greet her save the colored signs hovering in mid-air that point in the direction of Customs and Baggage Claim. She grips her two pieces of luggage tighter and steps off from the platform, the impact of her feet hitting the floor a solid, comforting sound. The air weighs warm and heavy in her lungs, but a slight breeze grazes the back of her neck when she looks up.  
  
It’s just another cityscape that she’s staring at, another horizon that rises and falls with every tower, or curves over a perfectly spherical dome as skycars wrap around the buildings like blinking ribbons on a flashing, neon dress (and the ubiquitous pink bars stamped on every second skyscraper do not discourage the metaphor either), but Liara spots the tiny, round buttons of light scattered across multiple floors, the blue undertones this planet seems to favor creeping up the building-sides in an ombre effect, the shiny surfaces, the white spires, and thinks that this place isn’t so unbearable.  
  
The sounds of trade and commerce are deafening, though. They bounce off of each other, layering _whirrs_ on top of _beeps_ on top of _clinks_ , and disappear into a navy backdrop whose stars are lacking because they can’t possibly compete with the lightshow several miles below where Liara stands. There’s a certain arrogance to this sister-colony, a smug assumption that whatever the dark infinite above possesses pales in comparison to the visceral, nonstop opportunities on Illium—on Nos Astra.  
  
Perhaps that might be true. After all, isn’t that why she’s here? Whether to carry out her vendetta in Feron’s name (and here she bites her lip, chest burning from how she’d abandoned him) or lay low while planning her next move, an opportunity is still an opportunity. But Liara tables the question for now. She wants to have this moment to herself.


	14. Maiden 3

“Your resume says that you studied in Nos Astra University.”  
  
The asari’s face perks up immediately. What was her name again? This is the fifth person she’s interviewed in the past week. “Yes, I graduated with an MBA and a concentration in operations management. I also have recommendations from several of my professors and former employers.” She smoothes the front of her dress, the ceiling lights playing up her violet facial markings.  
  
“I see,” Liara says, leaning closer to appear invested.  
  
The younger asari smiles eagerly. “They’re included in the resume I sent you.” Leaning forward as well, she adds, “Information brokering is truly a dream career.”  
  
Liara stifles a chuckle. “Really now. That isn’t the most common thing I hear about this profession.”  
  
“People don’t know what they’re missing out on,” she says breezily. “The prestige, the power, the knowledge…”  
  
 _The lies, the corruption, the moral quandaries._ “If I didn’t know any better, I would be suspecting you of flattery.”  
  
“Will it increase my chances of landing the job?”  
  
“I never said that.”  
  
They both laugh prettily at each other right as the timer goes off. Both interviewer and interviewee sigh for different reasons. “So how soon can I expect a phone call?”  
  
Liara purses her lips before remembering to smile. “I will contact you if anything opens up.”  
  
“Great,” she says (seriously, what was her name again?), “it was a pleasure to meet you.”  
  
“Likewise.” She takes the outstretched hand, pumps it twice, and lets go. The other asari—the dear, naïve thing with her scalp still freshly dyed—does a small bow and walks out the door. With a hand to her temple, Liara returns to her desk and plunks down, surveying the sprawl of datapads on the counter. Her console, filled to the limit with folders and junk data, fares no better. She checks the time—5:30pm—and exhales harshly. The rest of the interviewees can wait until tomorrow. She’s done for today.  
  
The rapid transit station is deserted by the time Liara arrives, slightly out of breath, her suitcase banging against the side of her knee. All but one of the cabs have been taken, leaving her the car that smells stale and questionable once she squeezes inside. After punching in the desired address, she leans back on the seat and shoves her suitcase to the opposite end of the car. The vehicle steadily ascends until it’s at mid-skyscraper level and takes off. Cool air blessedly begins to trickle through the vents while music plays faintly in the background. She undoes the top two buttons of her dress and lets the collar hang limply.  
  
It’s a half-hour commute back to her poor excuse of an apartment (an hour if the back-and-forth is included), but Liara takes the thirty minutes for what they’re worth. She turns off the message alert on her omni-tool and leans her head against the window, watching the traffic go by, alone with no one but her thoughts to keep her company.

 


	15. Matron 4

She polishes off the last bite of asari gumbo and lets the spoon gently clink against the bowl. The lingering taste in her mouth convinces Liara that her developing cooking skills are not completely lamentable. Getting up, she runs her hand along the couch seat for any accidental messes until she’s satisfied that there aren’t and walks towards the kitchen. Recently built and recently installed, the cabinets gleam back at her in all of their overpriced glory. The dishwasher she slides her bowl into is noiseless and white, as are the cooler, the freezer—and every other appliance, in fact. They had all been purchased from the same place, a mega-department store that encompassed a multi-colored skyscraper one galactic half-hour away.  
  
The machine gives a near inaudible hum as it rinses the bowl clean, and Liara heads for the stairs. Her footsteps echo sharply up the cavernous ceiling, from which hang tiny string lights: miniature stars against an artificial sky. She stops halfway to gaze out the reinforced window (which had also cost a pretty credit) that wraps around the entire perimeter, offering her the same bustling view as her office. From here though, the traffic and the holo-ads and the city sounds are muffled, as if easier to subdue and distance herself from. Down below are her sleek, low-lying couches and clean-edged endtables—more furniture must-haves of the season. The metal railing feels cold under her hand.  
  
The stairs open to a second floor solely comprised of her bedroom and personal bath, the latter of which is tucked away in a private little corner. With a start, Liara reminds herself to call the landlord about her shower that has already begun to malfunction. Over the headboard hangs a fully operating aquarium stocked with an in-box light, naturally occurring coral, and zero fish. During the move-in, she had forgotten to order some specimens from the catalogue-file she was given and has now certainly lost in the electronic mess of her work folders. She makes a mental note of that too, but it’s not long before the reminders and the notes add up to another hopeless stack of things she’ll never remember to do.  
  
Liara stands at the foot of her bed, looking out over her apartment. Every glossy surface and shiny tile square screams the place’s newness at her. Even the leaves on her potted plants contain an unnatural sheen. With a sigh, she sinks onto the mattress with its 300 thread count sheets. At least the rest of her paintings and artifacts are coming in tomorrow; otherwise this would look too much like a hotel. Perhaps she should return to the furniture store at some point and reconsider that elegant, antique bookcase she had been admiring as well. After all, a home is supposed to feel homey—  
  
But her train of thought stops, and Liara blinks several times before reclining on the bed, struggling to remember the last time she had thought of Shepard.  
  
Downstairs, the dishwasher has finished.

 


	16. Matron 5

The rain against her wall-to-floor windowpanes doesn’t wake her, but it’s what Liara claims when a manicured hand slides over the curve of her hip. “Morning,” chirps a throaty voice.  
  
She turns on the bed to find Gianna rubbing the sleep from her eyes, pale covers twisted in their equally tangled legs. Her blush is immediate. “It might be ‘good afternoon’ actually,” Liara murmurs.  
  
She laughs the way the asari wishes she could as well: carefree and self-assured. “You don’t have too many one-night stands, do you?”  
  
“I didn’t realize it was that obvious,” Liara replies, flushing harder. Better not to tell her that she’s her very first.  
  
“Don’t worry about it. It’s cute.” She drags her arms up and stretches; the downpour on the glass is deafening. Thunder rumbles in the distance.  
  
Swallowing a particularly difficult lump, Liara watches her apartment’s dim lighting cast shadows on Gianna’s supple form. Goddess, she can’t even remember how they ended up here last night. It had to be someone from her past though, hadn’t it? She wants to chide herself for her inability to let go.  
  
“If it’ll help, I can just shower and let myself out.” Gianna smirks. “I’ll even pretend not to know you afterwards.”  
  
“What? Oh, that’s not how I meant,” she starts, panic rising in her throat, “Did I say something to suggest that—?”  
  
“Shh.” She puts a brown finger to the asari’s lips. “Calm down, you didn’t. I just don’t want to sit here making you feel worse over a night you clearly regret.”  
  
Is that what she thinks? Is that what _she_ thinks too? Liara stubbornly shakes her head. “I don’t regret yesterday.”  
  
Something in her expression makes Gianna’s eyes narrow in interest. “Why me then?” There’s no accusation behind the question, only a keen curiosity, the kind that makes her uncommonly good at her job, Liara realizes.  
  
“I remember meeting you in Noveria,” she says simply, as if that should answer everything. The wind outside picks up, sending a low-pitched whistle down her spine, and without warning she’s back in a fussy dress in Port Hanshan two years ago, posing at the hotel bar with Garrus as she watches Shepard negotiate with internal affairs agent Parasini over drinks. When the noise fades so does the memory, and Liara comes to the present with lowered eyes, her hands under the covers.  
  
Gianna purses her mouth in an almost-smile. “I’ve been told I’m hard to forget.”  
  
“You don’t make it easy,” she replies, returning the gesture. Her blush rushes in full force again. “Ah, that’s not what I—“  
  
“Relax, I get it,” Gianna says laughing, “People stick to what’s familiar. Nothing wrong with that.”  
  
Liara blinks, a calm settling on her chest as the words sink in. “Yes,” she agrees and closes the short space between them. Gianna falls back, covering the pillow with her dark hair, and although the rain storm eventually leaves as quickly as it arrived, its departure is blissfully unremarked upon.


	17. Matron 6

She gently taps her glass on the counter. “Another, please.”  
  
“I’m cutting you off after this one,” rasps Aethyta, leisurely pouring more poison into Liara’s outstretched hand. She murmurs in agreement, not protesting.  
  
The song playing through the artificially-generated mist slowly winds down with the hours. There’s no one else seated at the counter while a few other asari linger on the low-lying couches in Eternity. Liara, the lone barfly, snatches her full glass, downs it like a champion, and promptly lays her head on the recently cleaned surface. The bartender-cum-matriarch, having watched her perform that familiar sequence, merely raises her brow bone and begins to put away the little bowls of dextro/levo snacks.  
  
“What’s eating you, kid?” she ventures.  
  
Liara blinks slowly, tugging at the collar of her wrinkled dress, and exhales. “A rather eventful day at work.”  
  
“More exciting than usual, huh?”  
  
“Well,” she replies, eyes bleary, “aside from espionage, blackmail, and an assassination attempt—”  
  
“I hear those can be inconvenient.”  
  
“—it’s not often an old friend comes back from the grave to pay me a visit.”  
  
Aethyta pauses but recovers quickly, opening the kiosk to run that night’s numbers. “Right, Commander freakin’ Shepard.” At the expression on Liara’s face, she waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t bother asking how. You didn’t think you could keep her a secret, did’ya?”  
  
The information broker feels the burn of liquor spreading through her chest and lets her shoulders slump. “No. I suppose not.”  
  
“Everyone knows about you and your adventures with the first human Spectre. No surprise she comes to see you after being brought back from the dead. So,” Aethyta continues, logging totals on a datapad, “she ask you to run off with her to the ass-end of the galaxy again?”  
  
Liara can’t help but smile. “Something like that.” Actually, it was exactly like that. Shepard had even smiled, and Liara had very nearly turned in her resignation.  
  
“But since you’re here trying to drink me dry, I assume you told her no.”  
  
She sighs.  
  
“Why the hell didn’t you go then? Rippin’ apart mercs with a singularity beats some boring desk-job on Illium, is all I’m saying.”  
  
How could she ever explain to her commander that there’s still another friend’s corpse she must retrieve from the Shadow Broker? “I have responsibilities,” Liara mutters instead. “I can’t just drop them all at someone’s request—not even Shepard.”  
  
Aethyta hums in sympathy. “You sure? The other day she managed to get rid of some crazy human who kept accusing me of running a red sand trade. He was here for weeks, but all she had to do was give him a quick talk and off he scrammed.” Shaking her head, she adds, “Your commander’s somethin’, you know that?”  
  
In her mind, Liara replays the impulsive hug she gave Shepard in her office: that brief press of bodies that let her know her time on Omega was not a mistake. “I do,” she says quietly.  
  
“Sounds like it,” Aethyta replies.

 


	18. Matron 7

“What are you really doing here, Liara?”  
  
She doesn’t mean to flinch at the sound of her name, but way the Garrus says it—like they’re back on the original _Normandy_ two years ago, and she’s clinging to her kinship to Benezia or Prothean know-how for any sort of relevance—brings out a side of her she had previously thought dormant. With any luck, he might not have spotted that (but who is she kidding, of course he had.) A soft _whoosh_ follows as she closes every open page on her console, steeples her fingers, and regards the turian leaning on the wall. “I _was_ working.”  
  
“On?”  
  
Her brow marks rise. “My job,” she answers mildly.  
  
“Huh.” Uncrossing his arms, he saunters to the railing to admire the glittering vista her office overlooks. Liara doesn’t move from her chair. “Can’t say I find staring at data streams and issuing death threats to the clientele the height of fulfillment, but to each his own, I guess.”  
  
The sigh from her mouth feels all too familiar as she pulls out a neatly packaged carton from a nearby drawer. “Still trying to bully me?” she asks, rapping the box against the palm of her hand.  
  
She imagines both of his mandibles would have twitched in amusement instead of just the one at present. “I’ll admit, I was kind of an ass back then.” Immediately he spins around with his hands up. “And I walked right into that one so I’ll save you the trouble of coming up with something scathing. Yeah, I was a huge ass. Still am.”  
  
“Maybe the years _have_ matured you, Garrus.” She spares him a crooked smile and flicks her lighter on.  
  
It isn’t hard to read a turian’s expression anymore. “They definitely did a number on you.”  
  
Liara waves around her lit cigarette. “This? An occasional habit.”  
  
“Looks like you’ve picked up more than a few of those.”  
  
Suddenly the constant whirring and whistling of trade machines outside her glass window bear a noisy weight on her head as she takes that first drag. The cybernetic patch covering the snarl of recently healed injuries on his neck seems to glare at her own unmarred flesh. Liara blinks slowly. Exhaling, she evenly replies, “And I wouldn’t be the only one.”  
  
His eyes are icy pinpricks, but they don’t stay that way for long. After a searching pause, Garrus nods at her in a conciliatory gesture. “At least Shepard’s here to tell us when we’ve strayed too far.”  
  
“That sounds like a story.”  
  
“Oh it’s got the usual highlights: gunfire, explosions, merc blood on my best armor…” Her nostrils leisurely trail smoke around her crest as he gathers the words to finish. “…betrayal, revenge, and even a twist at the end.”  
  
Liara taps ash on a tray in front of her. “I suppose Shepard provided the last part.”  
  
“When doesn’t she?”  
  
“So what was the twist?”  
  
“Nothing too shocking,” Garrus says, shrugging, “Just a reminder that I still have friends.”


	19. Matron 8

At first, Liara asks Tali to repeat what she said because she’s too preoccupied with the spark that’s refusing to catch on her cigarette. “Who are cute together?”  
  
Scooting her chair closer, the quarian leans over the desk as if to divulge a terrible secret. “Shepard and Garrus, of course.”  
  
The lighter slips from her hand and skids across the counter. She watches it come to a stop on the edge. “Oh, I—I didn’t know,” she replies, picking it back up.  
  
“Me neither,” Tali continues. “No one on the ship knew except for EDI and maybe Mordin, but a week after the Suicide Mission, they just showed up one morning for breakfast at the mess hall together. I mean, they weren’t obvious, but after knowing the both of them for so long…it was their way of announcing it.”  
  
“Shepard and Garrus,” Liara echoes faintly.  
  
“I know, right?” She leans back, sounding wistful through the helmet. “Long time coming, if you ask me.”  
  
The lighter blessedly works on the third try, and Liara takes a drag before saying anything else. Letting out an uneven exhale, she asks, “But what about Kaidan?”  
  
“Yeah.” Tali squirms in her chair. “I wasn’t there for their meeting on Horizon, but from what I heard from Garrus, he acted like a real bosh’tet. Heh, I guess their reunion turned into a breakup by the end.”  
  
Which means that Shepard had already severed ties with Kaidan when she arrived on Illium. She struggles to recall how the commander had appeared at the time, but nothing unusual stands out. It’s too loud here in her office, but it’s too quiet inside her own head. There’s nowhere to go. Liara keeps smoking feverishly. “Is she happy?”  
  
“It’s hard to tell,” Tali says with a shrug. “But she feels more…peaceful, if that’s the right word. There isn’t a permanent wrinkle on her forehead, and she laughs more often—those kinds of things.”  
  
Her cigarette’s down to half its original length. Liara taps it in the ashtray, looking away for a moment. “And Garrus?”  
  
“Like he’s a brand new turian,” she answers, giggling.  
  
Who are these people she’s talking about? They’re new faces and new stories that move faster and faster until she’s too far behind to catch up. “I wish I had been there.”  
  
Tali takes her free hand. “Me too. The _Normandy_ isn’t the same without a Prothean-obsessed scientist.”  
  
“I’m not studying much Prothean culture these days.”  
  
“Shepard told me you’ve been working on something big. Are you sure you can’t let it go?”  
  
“Yes,” Liara says in a tone that brooks no argument but backtracks when Tali lets go of her hand. “But after I’m done, maybe I can come back.” A strained sound escapes from the back of her throat. “I’ve missed out on a lot, it seems.”  
  
Tali nods. “Don’t be a stranger.”  
  
The smoke lingers between them as she grinds the rest of her cigarette into the ashtray. “Some days I feel like one.”


	20. Matron 9

Liara’s eyelids are drooping when a steaming mug lands next to her hand. Sharp and herbal, the scent wends itself through the still air of the cavernous ship, eventually curling around her nose. She inhales deeply before looking up at Feron. “You should have been asleep by now.”

“I was going to say the same thing.”

She glances at the sprawl on her desk. “I can’t, though-“

“Knew you’d say that too.”

She purses her lips, cocks her head at him. “What are my next words then?”

“Something about the deadline for this piece of information to hit the extranet, the time-sensitive package Agent XYZ is carrying, the drab decorations on the ship, and a new name for Glyph the Ever-so-cheery info drone.” He mimics her gesture. “Am I right or am I right?”

“Yes, yes, maybe, and definitely not,” Liara answers, reluctantly smiling by the last word.

“Three out of four,” Feron replies glibly, “but I highly urge you to reconsider the last one.”

The tea goes down smoothly on her first sip. She makes him wait a few seconds while relishing the taste. “What an insufferable know-it-all you’ve become.”

He shrugs. “That’s what happens when you have the largest information network in the galaxy at your fingertips.”

“I think that’s my line.”

“There’s room enough to share.”

Liara pushes her chair away from the desk, her work now entirely forgotten. “Are you implying that you want this job? Because I have been considering a career change.”

“You’d go crazy inside a week,” Feron says, gesturing to the flickering screens and live data-streams. “Face it, you enjoy being the Shadow Broker too much to let go of the reins now. Besides, I’m good where I am.”

The last sentence makes her pause. “Are you sure?”

Abruptly, his voice loses its light tone, dropping to an even lower register than the rasp she’s grown used to hearing again. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Raising the mug to her mouth, Liara peers at him over the rim. His eyes look carved into his face, and the once-brilliant sheen of his scales—the sea-green on his forehead, the bright yellow of his nose, or those lips and chin steeped into a shade like fine, red clay—has lost some of its luster. Although Feron is slowly teasing her more often, the laughs and his trademark smirk don’t come as easily. Sometimes he doesn’t speak to her for days, pacing up and down the endless hallways in a wordless journey that ends in his quarters, and she wonders if he’ll ever forgive her (or if she deserves even that.)

“Thank you for the tea,” Liara says finally.

He straightens the collar of his jacket. “It’s what you keep me around for. That, and stimulating conversation.”

“You give yourself too little credit.”

“Well, you’re a better friend than I deserve.” After a few seconds of silence, Feron continues, “I’ll let you get back to work.”

Clutching the mug, Liara watches him leave the room.


	21. Matron 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene makes several references to the ME comic series Homeworlds—Liara’s issue, to be exact. It is highly recommended that you read the summary found on the ME wiki first before reading this.

This is Liara’s first time on Arcturus Station, the heart of Alliance government, and she wishes the visit had been under better circumstances. Groups of navy blue suits walk past her in the narrow corridor she’s waiting in. If they stare, she stares right back, crest held high in the face of those whose indictment of Shepard’s actions on Aratoht could cost them everything. She clenches and unclenches her hands. This meeting with Hackett must go well; she needs access to the Prothean Archives on Mars. They could hold the key to the Reaper’s defeat, a secret The Illusive Man clearly knows of judging by their confrontation on Kahje, and with Shepard out of the loop, possibly _permanently_ —  
  
Breaking off that tangent, she gingerly rubs the border of where her crest begins as a headache forms. Today hasn’t been a good day. She checks the time, foot tapping. It hasn’t been a few good weeks.  
  
“Liara?”  
  
She turns her head, sees the staff commander approaching her in hesitant steps, and gives a curt nod. “Hello, Kaidan. Good to see you.”  
  
Something in her stance puts him off because his hand jumps to the back of his neck. “This is the last place I imagined you would be, but it’s nice to see that you’re doing alright.”  
  
“I’m meeting with Admiral Hackett in an hour,” Liara says bluntly, too tired of the endless conversational dances she’s had to perform with Alliance bureaucracy since arriving here to give an old crewmate a proper greeting.  
  
“Hackett?” She dislikes the follow-up question that isn’t voiced.  
  
“I would say more, but the topic is—“  
  
“Classified,” he finishes with a sigh. “Yeah, there’s been a lot of that going around lately.”  
  
She crosses her arms as he stands beside her, the both of them looking out into space through reinforced windows. A steady pressure thrums along the indentations on her crest. “We’re living in an uncertain era. None of the races wish to…upset the delicate balance already in place.”  
  
He frowns out of the corner of her eye. “This isn’t the time to be keeping secrets but…Shepard already blew that clear out of the water.”  
  
Her jaw works up and down. “How much do you know about the mission that’s led to where we are now?”  
  
“Does it even matter? Enough, “Kaidan says roughly, “or not enough.” That blasted hand runs through his hair. “Hell, I don’t know anymore, I don’t know _her_ anymore.”  
  
“She had no other choice,” Liara says quietly, her chest burning from his remarks. He’s just like all the other officers on this forsaken space station.  
  
“Was the call worth it though? How much time did it even buy us?” He shakes his head. “You think you know someone…”  
  
The tightrope in her mind snaps as the headache fully blooms. “Shepard just turned herself in, if you haven’t found out already. Perhaps she’s still the woman you’ve always imagined she was.”  
  
A charged buzz spreads throughout her body as he stops staring at the stars to check the hallway for anyone who might walk by them. When the coast looks clear, Kaidan levels the full weight of his attention on her. “Excuse me?”  
  
“She stopped the Reapers at our doorstep on a mission Hackett himself ‘requested,’” Liara begins, facing him too, “and is about to go on trial for 300,000 lives, which could have been prevented if people had just listened to the warnings. Shepard needs people to advocate for her, now more than ever. She needs us.”  
  
“Not to be rude,” he replies in that maddeningly passive tone, “but that’s pretty rich coming from you.”  
  
“And why is that?”  
  
“Where were you for two years? I went back to the Alliance because it was my duty, and my way of honoring Shepard’s memory. You became an information broker.”  
  
Liara stares at him, her fingers curled so tightly the glove fabric squeaks. “You don’t know the things I’ve done for Shepard.”  
  
“Then don’t assume the same about me.” Kaidan blows out air through his nose. “I’d join her in a heartbeat if I could, but look at the ship she came back in, the crew she’s travelling with, the people she’s reporting to. The Alliance has been my life for almost fifteen years, and she walked away from that like it was nothing—but I’ve always known where my loyalties lie.”  
  
The man in front of her used to talk to Shepard like there was no one else in the room even while others—like her—were present. The throbbing won’t stop. Gritting her teeth, Liara keeps her voice light. “You certainly have an odd way of showing it.”  
  
Kaidan glares at her while she can only bristle at the kind of person he’s become: stubborn, indecisive, and overly idealistic—or maybe those traits have always been there since the early days on the Normandy, and she’d been too inexperienced to spot them. No matter. He can shove his so-called integrity for all she cares. There’s too much to consider, too much to prepare on borrowed time for her to delay by arguing in a circle with him. In any case, he’s right. Shepard’s changed (and so has she.)  
  
Before either one of them can add anything else, her omni-tool gives a gentle ping. Liara drops her shoulders as she looks away, a hand rubbing her temple again. “I have to go.”  
  
He exhales harshly. “Your meeting, huh?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Liara,” Kaidan starts, and she winces at his tone. “We haven’t seen each other in God knows how long, and this is how our first conversation goes?”  
  
Her crest twinges. “Reunions aren’t necessarily a happy occasion.”  
  
“So you’re leaving, just like that?”  
  
Her next words are crisp and clipped. “Don’t you usually run when people can’t meet your expectations too?”  
  
His mouth slightly sags open in surprise, and even Liara has to pause at herself. The moment is short, however, because she then straightens her posture, turns on her heel, and leaves.


	22. Matriarch 1

There’s a sizeable line behind her as Liara warily eyes the contents being ladled into her bowl. After waving her omni-tool to exchange credits, she sits across from Feron at the counter next to the colorfully dressed vendor. The legs of her bar stool are cut unevenly, causing her to slightly rock from side to side as she brings a spoonful to her mouth for that first taste. The drell watches her, his brows raised in amusement.  
  
She purses her lips. “Not bad.”  
  
“’Not bad?’ This is the best noodle place in Zakera Ward.”  
  
“Have you tried every noodle place in Zakera Ward?”  
  
“Would you believe me if I said ‘yes?’”  
  
“Only if it would stop you from talking,” she says, taking another sip.  
  
Feron gestures to his half-empty bowl. “Buy us another round then."  
Shaking her head, Liara savors the noodles in her mouth before swallowing. He’s right. They’re good, but she isn’t about to tell him. “I can’t stay for long. We’re leaving for Menae in a few hours.”  
  
“Primarch business?” His voice instantly drops to a low hum that prevents any eavesdropping but purrs under her skin.  
  
She gives a small nod and murmurs, “Palaven’s been hit, hard. The situation’s growing desperate.”  
  
“Sounds like everywhere else in the damn galaxy.”  
  
A small frown irresistibly makes its way across her face. “That’s not entirely accurate. Sur’kesh still remains untouched, and Tuchanka has passed the Reapers’ notice for now.” She pauses. “Thessia as well.”  
  
“Sure, but for how much longer?” he points out, his fingers restlessly drumming on the counter. “Keep in mind, this is only the beginning.”  
  
“And already this much destruction,” she says with a sigh and stares into her bowl, idly stirring the noodles. The other customers seated at this hole-in-the-wall, so blissfully ignorant of their current conversation, only serve to emphasize how tenuous the situation has become. “I have been considering that, in fact—how long it took the Reapers to eradicate the Protheans, and how long they’ll need for us.”  
  
“Wait—”  
  
“It took them centuries to conquer the Protheans. We’re not quite so widespread, but it would still take at least 100 years. It’s selfish, but I keep thinking that if we fail—“  
  
The line of his shoulders tenses as he hisses something far below her hearing frequency.  
  
“I’m only 109,” Liara grounds out, an edge of resignation to her words. “I could live to see the entire cycle come to an end.”  
  
Feron grabs her hand. It’s enough to startle her into looking back up at him. “Don’t,” he says harshly, “Stop assuming the worst.”  
  
Before she can respond, he continues, “Think about it. You thought I was dead for two years, and look at me now.”  
  
Liara’s eyes dance back and forth from his face to the green-scaled hand on hers while imagining the tortures inflicted on his body that he’s never openly discussed. She wants to flip her hand up and curl her fingers over his. “That’s true too.”


	23. Matriarch 2

James Vega is standing in full armor in the shuttle bay, guns strapped, fists bunched, and ready to go as Liara finishes fitting her pistol and begins to check her own suit. Cortez, whose quiet, thoughtful manner she’s quickly grown to like, is performing last minute preparations on the Kodiak. While they wait, the bulked-up marine stares at her, as he had been for the past several minutes for lack of any other stimuli, and she’s trying her hardest not to notice. Shepard will be down here soon enough.  
  
“So... _Doctor_ T’soni, right?”  
  
Too late. Holding in a sigh, she attaches her gauntlets. “Yes.”  
  
“Shepard said you study the Protheans.”  
  
The shoulder buckles click into place. “I used to.”  
  
“But now you’re the Shadow Broker, using your contacts to help beat the Reapers.”  
  
She secures her chestplate. “You sound surprised.”  
  
“Nah, but it does take a lot to surprise me—unless you’re hiding a mind-blowing secret or two.”  
  
The leg guards thankfully hold together. “If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”  
  
“Ah. Cold and private, got it.”  
  
How has this conversation already exhausted her before the actual mission? “Well,” Liara says stiffly, “you’ve certainly figured me out.”  
  
“Easy,” he says, holding up his hands, “I just wanna get to know the crew Shepard runs with.”  
  
She gives him another onceover. James had been an unexpected addition, she learned, and his scruffy, scar-nicked, tattooed self looks it. The accompanying foolhardy, impulsive disposition is not surprising, but that small step back he takes after putting up his hands is. She inclines her head. “Excuse me. I’ve been surrounded by archives and console screens for six months. I’ll have to relearn the art of conversation, it seems.”  
  
When he smiles, she understands why Shepard would tolerate him. “Hey, no problem. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve put my foot in my mouth.”  
  
“I’m surprised you don’t hurt yourself with the size of those things!”  
  
“At least I don’t trip over mine when I dance, Esteban!” James shakes his head, that grin splitting his face in two.  
  
“If you can call that dancing!”  
  
Liara watches their back-and-forth, suddenly feeling like the third wheel. It’s been tricky to slide back into the familiar rhythms of ship life, especially in these circumstances, but James’ ready smile and the laugh in Cortez’s normally somber voice reminds her of how it used to be three years ago, in an earlier shuttle bay half this size. The sight makes her hopeful despite the gloom hanging over every move they make. Perhaps there’s still room for her here after all.  
  
“Alright, alright, party’s over.”  
  
The atmosphere changes immediately as both men snap their jaws shut and climb into the shuttle. Shepard stands next to her with both hands on her hips and a furrowed brow. Liara follows James without another word, falling on the seat next to him. He nudges her elbow, which she should be annoyed with, but isn’t.  
  
“Ready to kick some Cerberus ass?”  
  
Liara smiles. “Absolutely.”  
  



	24. Matriarch 3

“Well hello.”  
  
Liara freezes, but not literally, just freezes in a towel that doesn’t reach her knees in front of the Comm. Specialist in the crew bathroom—while tracking water all over the floor. Wonderful. Any attempts to appear regal and unconcerned are certain to fail so she shrugs sheepishly and murmurs, “Traynor. How are you?”  
  
Samantha brushes the feeble line away with a wave of her hand. “We’re all ladies in here, relatively speaking. There’s no need for awkward small talk—I’ve never been good at it myself.” She glances at the cubby Liara’s just come out from. “My god these stalls are _tiny_. Did you even have room to shower?”  
  
“It gets the job done,” she answers shyly and turns to the mirror with her bag of toiletries.  
  
“That’s the problem with these military ships.” Samantha begins to undress. “No consideration for civilian comfort. I mean, we’re not exactly civilians, but when the refurbishing on the _Normandy_ first started, I saw Joker’s cockpit. Leather seats, really?”  
  
The shirt covers her face on the way up, revealing a full length of brown abdomen that gleams back at Liara. She swallows and tears her eyes away to idly rummage through her things. Samantha throws the shirt on the counter before picking at the buckle on her pants and stops. “Oh—you don’t mind, do you? Or am I making you uncomfortable?”  
  
She shakes her head, still looking down at her bag. “Not at all. Go ahead.”  
  
While blithely continuing to undress, Samantha glances over the asari’s contents. “What toothbrush model have you got there?”  
  
“I—hmm. I’m not sure. It’s a basic toothbrush…?”  
  
Her gurgle of laughter makes Liara’s face burn. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I made a crack earlier today about putting a six-thousand credit toothbrush on the requisition order to the commander. She took it pretty well, all things considered.”  
  
She pulls up her towel. “It can be difficult to tell if Shepard is taking you seriously or not.”  
  
“Definitely,” Samantha says, pinning back her hair, “she’s got a sense of humor as dry as the desert and doesn’t let you know either.”  
  
Liara smiles into the mirror. “It grows on you after a while.”  
  
“Agreed.” She gets out her own towel. “I rather like that.”  
  
The husky drop in Samantha’s voice makes her hesitate before asking, “Her sense of humor or how she grows on you?”  
  
She gives a playful shrug at the other’s reflection. “Can’t it be both?”  
  
Startled, Liara meets the Comm. Specialist’s eyes in the mirror. The smile on her face reminds her of those winks humans seem so fond of dispensing. “I see,” she says, unsure of how to react.

“Come on,” Samantha replies, lightly nudging her elbow, “a little crush never hurt anybody.”  
  
The flush creeps up her neck without warning. “I suppose not.”  
  
She stares at Liara while unhooking her bra. “I always wondered what color asari blush. That shade—it’s really cute."   
  
Liara blushes harder. “So are you.”


	25. Matriarch 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timeline is slightly tweaked here. Instead of meeting the quarian admirals (and Tali) after the Citadel Coup, I simply switched the two. Therefore, Tali was there to help Shepard during the coup.

“Have you heard? Shepard’s letting Kaidan rejoin the crew.”  
  
Liara takes a polite sip out of her spiked tea that tastes tart, bitter, and not at all sweet. “I have.”  
  
“Yeah, I don’t know what to think of that either.” Tali leans over the table, propping her chin with her hands. “Especially considering how a few days ago we had guns trained at each other on a Presidium rooftop—and instead Shepard shoots Councilor Udina who turned out to be a Cerberus pawn.”  
  
“But he ultimately chose to believe her.” She can’t help but replay their last conversation on Arcturus Station in her head after saying that. How much has _he_ changed?  
  
Unaware of this, Tali goes on. “Which I’m glad he did. Only now it’s going to be spectacularly awkward on the ship for a while.”  
  
She hums in agreement while observing the singed railing and cracked glass that surround Apollo’s Café. Business, surprisingly, has held steady in the aftermath of the coup, with Aethyta looking slightly harangued at the counter. They nod at each other, acknowledging the unspoken relief of seeing the other alive and well. With Mordin and Thane’s recent passing, the feeling has grown increasingly difficult to come by.  
  
Tali abruptly lets out a heavy sigh. “You know, when I think about how much worse the situation could’ve been—“ She cuts herself off with a muttered quarian expletive.  
  
Liara shrugs. “What? That one of us would have had to shoot Kaidan if he hadn’t backed down?”  
  
“Exactly,” Tali exclaims, “Keelah, if I had to—with my gun, I—no. No, I couldn’t do it.”  
  
The condensation beading on her glass seeps through her gloves. “If either of them had hesitated a moment longer, what do you think would have happened? Kaidan is extremely lucky that we weren’t forced to make that decision.”  
  
“Could _you_?”  
  
Liara pauses. Details begin to resurface: the pistol’s sure and steady weight in her grip, the stillness of her hands, the certainty in her mind. Shepard had looked calm at the time, but there was a visible tremor to her body when the commander finally lowered her gun. She swirls her drink around before quietly answering, “Yes.”  
  
For a split-second, Tali’s posture goes rigid, and then quickly relaxes. “…really?”  
  
Liara simply looks at her friend.  
  
Silence fills the space between them, expanding into the faraway corners and hard-to-reach nooks of what they had previously thought to be true about each other. Tali glances away. Liara tries to salvage the conversation. “We don’t have the luxury of waiting for things to solve themselves anymore, not during this war.”  
  
“You’re right, I know. It’s just…” Tali shakes her head. “Sometimes I forget how much you’ve gone through. Like, I can see you sitting here with your drink and it’s _you_ , but that’s not the same person who was with me at the standoff.”  
  
“People change,” Liara says restlessly.  
  
“Until I can’t even recognize them—?” Immediately, “Keelah I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”


	26. Matriarch 5

It’s one of the rare nights Liara decides to forgo the stims and choose the bed over her chair in front of the wall of holo-displays. She’s lying on top of the sheets, mentally filing away the to-do lists that will spill over into the next day, when her omni-tool gives a gentle buzz. A glance at the caller ID screen has her sitting up against the headboard as she clears her throat. There’s a brief pause between the times she presses the “receive” button and when Feron’s young, rasping voice finally comes through.  
  
“Am I calling at a bad time?”  
  
Liara settles in more comfortably. “No. What is it?”  
  
“Nothing major—just your best agent checking in like you requested.”  
  
She’s glad that the call is audio only so he can’t see her exasperated smile. “So that last rescue operation went smoothly?”  
  
“Smoother than asari wine.”  
  
Shaking her head, Liara asks, “Where are you now?”  
  
“Ismar Frontier.” Static. “Can’t specify which system, but I’m refueling at one of the few depots that hasn’t been destroyed yet.”  
  
“You shouldn’t stay there for long.”  
  
A vibrating chuckle. “You gonna remind me to wash my frill before I go to sleep too? I’ve got this.”  
  
“Are you going to sleep?”  
  
“Of course not.” A beat. “I can’t, not without my usual prescription anyway, and I’m out.”  
  
Liara sighs. “You should have let me assign you a partner.”  
  
“And have my thunder stolen? I don’t think so. Besides, they drag you into more trouble than you originally sign up for.”  
  
That smile sneaks back. “Speaking from experience?”  
  
“You could say that.” Liara knows he’s wearing the same expression and softly laughs under her breath.  
  
“Did I just hear the dour, aloof Shadow Broker laugh?”  
  
“I don’t understand why everyone assumes the Shadow Broker has to be so grim.”  
  
“Well it’s a pretty tedious job. Think about it: you’re all alone up there in your fortress of a ship, glued to either the console or your desk at all hours, cycle after cycle. Where _would_ you find the time to joke around?”  
  
She blinks owlishly. “I could start an interstellar war in two minutes. Isn’t that funny?”  
  
“Maybe this job warps your sense of humor too,” Feron says slowly.  
  
A frustrated noise escapes her throat. “I was kidding.”  
  
“Relax, I caught that.” There’s faint scuffling on the other end. “And I know you wouldn’t. You’re too much of a goody two-shoes.”  
  
Liara draws her knees to her chest. “Those aren’t the words typically used to describe a merciless information broker.”  
  
“That’s because you aren’t one.” He says that like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  
  
Not for the first time that night, Liara wonders what he’s doing as they’re talking. He wouldn’t tell her if she asked though, just like how she won’t tell him about the twist in her mouth or the sudden sting in her eyes. Instead, she replies, “You sure know how to flatter someone.”  
  
“Who says I’m flattering?”

 


	27. Matriarch 6

Someone’s already in the crew lounge when Liara comes in. Empty glasses litter the table in front of the couch from where Kaidan raises his head, looking too lost in thought.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she says immediately and turns for the door.  
  
“Wait.” He draws out the word, sounding more slurred than usual, and his hands are up in the air, gesturing her over. “Have a drink with me. I don’t bite, promise.”  
  
Against her better judgment, Liara joins him on the couch. “I think you’ve had enough.”  
  
“This is a party though. We just took down a Reaper, won back the quarian homeworld, and ended a 300 year-old war—in a day. I say that calls for a few shots.”  
  
She hefts a bottle into view and shakes to see how much is left inside. “By yourself?”  
  
Kaidan hiccups. “It was getting a bit too crowded out there.”  
  
“I see.” The glasses gently clink as she gathers them together and stands. “Let me help you with these.” While she walks over to the bar across the room, he keeps talking.  
  
“Hey, about the argument back on Arcturus…what was said—I didn’t mean that.” He sighs, mumbling other things she can’t catch. “I’d tell you this sober, but now’s a good time as any.”  
  
Liara sets the bottle and shotglasses on the bar counter before returning to the couch. She doesn’t bother asking him to clarify what he means. “You’re lucky Shepard’s allowed you back.”  
  
“Yeah, this might be the only second chance I get.” Suddenly, Kaidan lets out a bitter laugh. “Actually, I don’t even have that.”  
  
It takes her a few seconds to understand what he means, but when the realization hits, she bites her lip and looks away. Outside, the celebration continues, and earlier she had watched Garrus take the elevator with Shepard as they also escaped the party. Perhaps the second bottle isn’t such a bad idea. At the silence, he solemnly announces, “I blew it” and drops his head into his hands again.  
  
Irritation blooms fresh in her mind, but Liara stamps that down quickly; the parallels between them are easy to draw, but too different to compare. There are a million ways to end this conversation, but Kaidan deserves none of them despite everything that’s happened. From some empathizing place, she lightly touches his shoulder.  
  
“What’s done is done, but you still have the memories of what used to be. Save them.” She swallows. “Cherish what you are to her now and be happy for the peace that she’s found. Shepard could have rejected your request to rejoin the _Normandy_. She could have looked at your shared, tangled history and decide that it wasn’t worth having you back. But that’s not the case.”  
  
Kaidan looks at her then, realization dawning in his eyes. “You lo—“  
  
She stops him from speaking with a jerky wave of her hand. “So remember, you’re still important to her—even if it’s not in the way that you want.”


	28. Matriarch 7

Liara’s scalp tingles in apprehension as soon as Javik steps inside the elevator. He flicks his eyes over her before deigning to stand beside her, lifting his head to show off that odd profile. When a few seconds pass in blissful silence, she thinks the ride down to engineering will end smoothly, but, as always, he proves her wrong.

“I received your message, asari—about your proposal to write a book on my people.”

Liara waits for the rest of his answer because Goddess forbid she accidentally interrupt him.

“I will consider it.”

She blinks wide-eyed at him. “I—thank you.” The surprise is enough to keep her talking. “To write and publish a fully comprehensive book on the Protheans has been a lifelong dream of mine, but…”

“But.”

“Well, this happens,” she continues, gesturing broadly. “Shepard rescued me from a dig site overrun by geth three years ago, Sovereign attacked the Citadel soon after, and my research has been on hold ever since.” The last part ends on a wistful note.

His four eyes focus their withering gaze on the asari. “You have followed her then, for all of this time?”

By now, they have reached their floor, a fact that goes wholly unnoticed. With the words he uses, the whole thing sounds vaguely romantic. Does the period in Ilium count? She wouldn’t have fled there were it not for what transpired on Omega. Liara gives an ambiguous nod. “In a way, yes.”

“You gave up your life’s work to follow the footsteps of a single human,” he asks; only it’s neither a question nor an observation up for debate, and she meets his stare with an inward sigh at how quickly the conversation has turned.

“What are you implying?” Liara asks tiredly.

“Nothing that has not already been said.”

She whirls on him. “Do you have a problem with how I choose to live my life? Or are you being condescending again?”

“You are a scholar, not a soldier,” he says, seemingly unimpressed by her growing irritation, “I am curious to know what essence lies in Shepard that inspires such blind loyalty from you.”

Since his arrival onto the ship, she’s learned to not to take everything he says to heart, but it’s times like these that her skin wears thin. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining or how.” A heady thrum of biotic energy runs down her spine as Liara’s hands clench at her sides. “But I doubt that you’d understand anyway.”

“There are people waiting to use the elevator,” EDI chimes in from a hidden com.

With a near inaudible hiss, Javik bares his teeth at the ship’s AI as Liara pinches the bridge of her nose and steps out from the elevator. “It’s fine, EDI. Go ahead and close the doors.”

She throws one final glare at him, wondering if the book offer still stands, before shaking her head. “We’re done here,” Liara says and walks in the opposite direction of his quarters.

 


	29. Matriarch 8

“Hey.”  
  
She doesn’t look up.  
  
“Do you need a few minutes alone?”  
  
Her head is still down. Hands grip the sides of her seat so tightly that her gloves stretch thin over claw-like fingers. There are bloodstains and fine, white dust from Thessia’s once-beautiful architecture on her boots. In the empty space, she dimly registers that Shepard and Javik have already left the shuttle. Her legs won’t stop shaking.  
  
“Liara,” says the voice, more firmly this time, and she jerks at a slight touch on her arm. Steve immediately withdraws his hand. She hadn’t noticed when he crept in here from his chair at the front.  
Seconds pass by. When she finally meets his eyes, the lines around his mouth tighten. “I can clear out the shuttle bay for you.”  
  
“You don’t have to do that,” Liara replies swiftly, “I’m f—“ Stops herself. In this moment, she isn’t the formidable Shadow Broker or even the shy archaeologist lost amongst ruins. She shivers at the sudden loss of her masks.  
  
Steve kneels in front of her. “Or I can leave.”  
  
Shaking her head, she says feebly, “This is your area of the ship. I couldn’t, I—I just have to get back to my office…” Problem is, Liara can’t move. Everything below the neck has gone curiously numb.  
  
“Take my hand.”  
  
She does so slowly, joints creaking. He pulls her to her feet, but she stumbles, rights herself on his shoulders, and lets go as if she’s touched fire. Grimy fingerprints smudge his uniform. “I’m sorry,” Liara whispers.  
  
Steve sighs, and it’s the most soothing sound she’s heard all day. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” The words gently wash over her, warm and balmy where Javik (nor Shepard) were not. It’s enough to follow him to the door.  
  
When they’re close to stepping out of the Kodiak, however, she grabs a hold of the entrance. “Wait—“ And begins to cough violent spasms that bend her in two. Liara staggers back, hacking until her throat is ready to give out, but the pilot tugs her down, and she falls gracelessly into his arms. He rubs her shoulder blades as the last coughs wrack her body.  
  
“I don’t know where that came from,” she says after a while.  
  
“Pretty sudden,” he agrees.  
  
Liara pulls away. “I should be good to go—“  
  
“Don’t hold it in.”  
  
Her eyes are so dry she can feel the corners cracking. “I don’t know what will happen if I don’t.”  
  
“And if you do, it will eat you up.”  
  
“So how am I supposed to react? I’ve never lost my homeworld before.” At that, Liara sucks in a breath, stomach twisting from finally verbalizing what she had witnessed. “I’ve never,” she tries again, “never…” Grief steals the rest of her words as her knees crumple.  
  
For the second time that day, Steve catches her trembling form, her blue face pressed against his chest. The front of his uniform grows damp from Liara’s muffled sobs.

 


	30. Matriarch 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene references the events of the Leviathan DLC.

“She looks so pale.” Liara almost reaches out to touch the window.  
  
Next to her, Garrus grunts in agreement. “She was down there for two hours, at least.”  
  
Through the glass, Chakwas fusses over a subdued Shepard, who’s perched on the examination table. She rubs the temples of her forehead, a gesture Liara unconsciously mirrors. She wasn’t part of the ground team for Despoina and had locked herself in the office for the entire duration of the mission, sounding strained in her calls to various contacts and agents. This is the first time she’s come out in hours. “Did she say anything about what happened in the shuttle?”  
  
“No, she was too cold.” His mandibles press tight and flat against his face.  
  
Liara sucks in a tiny breath. “That bad?”  
  
“She’s a lot better now.”  
  
A heavy silence passes through before she sighs and says, “The stakes just keep rising.”  
  
“And Shepard’s thrown all in.”  
  
“That includes us, Garrus.” A muscle in Liara’s jaw jumps. “She won’t be alone.”  
  
He crosses his arms, raising his head a little higher. “I wouldn’t let her do this by herself anyway.”  
  
She can hear the protectiveness in his words, said casually but strung tight, and sees the worry in his posture like a counterweight to the cool confidence he projects. It’s been a new experience, watching how Garrus acts around Shepard, and yet familiar ground at the same time because she’d watched a similar courtship on the first Normandy long ago. This feels different though—a good different.  
  
“I keep forgetting to say this, but—I’m happy for you,” Liara says, meaning it.  
  
He nods his thanks. “With everything that’s going on, it’s nice, finding a place to catch your breath.” His eyes seem to sharpen at the window. “I just got lucky.”  
  
She smiles gently. “The rest of us could use some of that luck.”  
  
“Well, what about you?”  
  
“What about me?”  
  
“Tali has a quarian marine she’s sweet on—Kal’Reegar’s his name, I think. Joker and EDI, strangely enough, are trying out the dating thing.” He trains a sharp turian eye on her. “You have someone I should know about?”  
  
Before Liara can stutter her way to an answer, he brings his hand up. “I’m joking. You don’t have to answer that, but a word of advice: if there is somebody, I’d tell them soon, before shit really hits the fan. Hard to know when’s the next chance you’ll get.”  
  
Quietly, she opens and closes her mouth for several seconds. Garrus’ faceplates shift into smug amusement. “There _is_.”  
  
Liara swiftly faces the glass again, where Shepard hasn’t moved from her original position, where she looks hurt and untouchable. Her shoulders cave. “I don’t deserve him. I don’t even know if he feels the same—“  
  
“Look—I don’t know the guy, but if he knows you at all, he’d be crazy not to feel the same. And if anyone deserves a bit of happiness before everything goes to hell, it’s you.”


	31. Matriarch 10

Feron’s Citadel apartment is small, but absurdly beautiful. The wall-to-floor window provides a panoramic view of the undamaged section of Tayseri Ward with his bed and dresser facing the scenery while the kitchen/dining nook lies tucked away behind them. Pouring himself a glass of water, he gestures to the window with his free hand. “I paid more than I should have for the place, but it overlooks the Gaeron Botanical Gardens.”

Outside, skycar traffic continues unimpeded, obstructing the view for now. Liara turns to face him. “You need to find another place.”

His chuckle only increases the sudden dread at the pit of her stomach. “I wasn’t serious about the price, you know.”

“But _I’m_ serious,” she insists, “You need to get out of the Citadel while you still can.”

He frowns. “What’s going on—“

“We’re only docking here for half a day cycle. After we ship out, Shepard and the Alliance are launching a full-scale attack on Cerberus HQ.”

Feron’s jaw snaps shut as he slowly sets his drink down on the dresser. “Shit.”

“Once that happens, the Reapers will be alerted and most likely focus their full attention on Earth—perhaps here as well,” she adds grimly.

He pulls up his omni-tool. “I’ll need to inform my contacts then.“

“Already done. Glyph messaged the rest of the agents in the Serpent Nebula.” Liara moves closer, but not enough to touch him. “I wanted to warn you in person.”

Even in the midst of a losing war, Feron’s smirk appears effortless. “It’s because I’m your best agent, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” she replies carelessly, not really listening, “I can forward any necessary documents you might be missing and eliminate part of C-Sec’s outprocessing procedure. In the meantime, start packing.” It’s only when Liara stops talking that she realizes she’s been pacing. “I should speak with Captain Bailey before I leave too” trails behind like a mumbled afterthought.

“Hey,” he begins and steps towards her, but she slightly shifts back. “just…sit down for a bit.”

“I don’t have enough time for that.”

“Then how about taking a breath.” Feron travels further into her space, and she still keeps moving away. His browplates make a deep furrow at the center of his forehead.

Liara inhales a short burst of air, holds it in her lungs, and exhales loudly.

He nods approvingly. “Better?”

Her stomach twists and twists. “Everything I do seems futile.”

“Haven’t I told you to stop thinking like that? We’re going to be alright.”

“But—“

“But nothing,” Feron says flatly, slicing the air with his hand, which she deftly avoids. A second passes in which the atmosphere changes, and his next question comes out low and frustrated. “Okay, what are you doing.”

Now Liara’s confused. “What—?”

“You haven’t touched me this whole time.”

“That’s not—“

“Only it is. And it isn’t just now: you haven’t laid a single finger on me since I was strapped to that chair on the ex-Shadow Broker’s ship.” The ribbing of his throat flushes deep blue. “What, do you think I’m too delicate? You send me out on these deep-space missions as soon as my wounds heal, but I’m too fragile for a hug? A damn _handshake_?”

“I didn’t—“

In a single, fluid movement, Feron grabs her hands and forcibly places them on his upper arms, bringing their faces close. “I’m not going to break if you touch me, Liara.”

“But _I_ might!” she bursts out.

The ensuing silence that drops is an anchor that holds her feet down so she won’t fly away in embarrassment. Helplessly, inevitably, Liara raises her eyes to meet his, and winds up drinking in the alien contours of his face: the delicate-tipped bridge of his nose, the featherlike frills, his vibrant, speckled coloring that shifts under the light. With features so meticulously crafted—not unlike a priceless carving she’d find at the bottom of a dig site—is it any wonder she couldn’t bring herself to touch him for fear of breaking it in two?

“I’ll be careful then,” Feron says finally, and slowly wraps his arms around her as she trembles, burying her face in the crook of his neck as Liara finally accepts what he’s been offering. The warmth is welcoming. She wants to rest her head on his shoulder.

“Those two years weren’t always unbearable.” His voice, near and trilling, settles her nerves as he rubs small circles on her back. “Drell can retreat into their memories. That helped on the bad days. I’d relive my childhood on Kahje or recall the trips my family and I used to make.”

There’s an abrupt pause, and she raises her head to look quizzically at him. He sighs. “Most of the time, though, I thought of you.”

“Feron,” she begins, her voice tight with emotion.

He nods, agreeing with all of it. “You’re still better than I deserve,” he says quietly and gives her a kiss so light that Liara swears it couldn’t have happened. Her lips burn.

“Oh,” she whispers, “I didn’t know…”

His thumb traces a gentle line from her lower lip to the sensitive grooves at the base of her neck. Her eyes flutter shut at the intensity of his stare. “Sorry for taking so long.”

A peaceful certainty settles in Liara’s mind before spreading to the rest of her body. “I forgive you,” she says before kissing him again.

Wordlessly, Feron brings her closer, each molding the other into an imperfect whole that shines as brightly as the artificial daylight streaming through the window. She kisses him over and over. What they were, what they could be, or what they could have been doesn’t matter because it’s what they are now that has him tenderly bearing Liara down on the bed, has her eyes turning black as kindred minds meet, has them meld and carve out this moment from time, far from the reaches of an end that’s surely coming—but in this hour, none of that matters.

 


	32. Epilogue

As soon as the vision fades to darkness, Liara severs the ties between their mental pathways with practiced ease, memory sliding against suggestion and unexplored possibilities, and opens her eyes to find Shepard blinking her world back into focus. Shuttles roar overhead as they quietly stare at each other, their gloved hands still clasped. Seconds pass. A nearby sink drips. The sounds of scattered gunshot filter through walls with little structural integrity, and she resists the urge to squeeze tighter. London returns in full force.  
  
With a quirk of her eyebrow, Shepard asks, “What was I looking at in the Joining?”  
  
“You mean was it a memory?” Liara lets go of her hand. “No.”  
  
“Hey, if you’re not comfortable telling me…”  
  
Frowning immediately, she shakes her head. “I’m just—looking for the right way to explain.” Even now, she struggles for words in front of the commander, but they do come eventually. “It’s a peaceful image I constructed, and I wanted to share it with you.” The distant groans of husks on the other side of the wall make her tense. “Something to think of in the middle of all this fighting.”  
  
An oasis, Liara wants to tell her, another place to rest. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Shepard says cheekily, that enigmatic smile not quite reaching her eyes.  
  
Before she realizes what’s happened, her hand is already clutching the other woman’s shoulder in a solid grip. Her voice doesn’t waver. “Are you ready, Shepard?”  
  
She tilts her head to one side, a silent question on her lips that she shrugs off. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”  
  
In that scuffed and dented armor, Shepard still cuts a striking figure, all clean lines and stately angles that converge to form humanity’s last beacon of hope. The expression on her face, steady and flickering, is what truly convinces Liara. It’s the same face that comforted her on the _Normandy_ four years ago. “Thank you,” she says simply, “for everything.”  
  
Shepard takes Liara’s hand from her shoulder, fingers lacing together again as she shakes it. “Don’t forget, I couldn’t have done all this without you.”  
  
“I know,” she replies and actually knows. Shepard frowns as another round of gunfire pierces the night, and Liara squares her shoulders, sure and ready. “Now, let’s do what needs to be done.”  
  
Nothing else is said after that. Shepard walks away, sand and gravel crunching underneath her boots while Liara turns from that image: a secret she’s come no closer to uncovering, a mystery she’s content to leave untouched. Some things change, some things don’t, and some she keeps frozen in her mind.  
  
 _Two souls float in space, their feet dangling over stars, stars dangling over their heads, endless horizons stretching into every dark corner of the galaxy. Planets, comets, meteors, stars—celestial bodies fly past them as they aimlessly wander through a cosmic slipstream. In this mental ether that she has created, Liara leans her head on Shepard’s shoulder, and that is enough for her._

__


End file.
